Faith
by Aini NuFire
Summary: Faith is at the very core of an angel's being. So what happens when one loses their faith? Sick!Cas one-shot.


**A/N: For Dream Root. Hope you like it!**

 **Disclaimer: Some lines from episode 5x18 "Point of No Return"; they're not mine. Also, for the purposes of this AU one-shot, Adam is not being resurrected yet.**

* * *

"Faith"

Castiel stood by the window in Bobby's den, gazing out at a world that would soon be destroyed. The Apocalypse was in full swing, God had abandoned them all…and now so had Dean Winchester. There was nothing left to fight for.

Still, Castiel had helped Sam intercept Dean before he could surrender to Michael, and had transported them all back to Bobby's. But that was as much as Castiel could bring himself to do. While Sam settled his unconscious brother downstairs in the panic room, Castiel found himself slowly shutting down, mentally and physically.

He felt strange, too. His head was throbbing again, as it had after he'd drunk that entire liquor store. And his body ached, which could have been a lingering effect of the debilitating spell the Whore of Babylon had cast on him. But whereas her attack had burned through his grace like forked tongues of fire, Castiel now felt a chilled, bone-deep numbness pervading throughout his being and taking root. He shivered.

Footsteps on the stairs coming up from the basement alerted him to Sam's return. The young Winchester collapsed on the couch next to where Castiel stood, and ran a hand through his hair. Neither of them spoke. There wasn't much to say at this point.

Bobby Singer was in the adjoining kitchen, though whether he was asleep at the table or silently nursing a bottle of hard liquor, Castiel didn't know. His senses were blunted at the moment. Another shiver wracked his frame, and he folded his arms across his chest, trying to rub some warmth back into them. It wasn't working. Castiel had experienced being cold before, the way frosty air would brush over his vessel's skin. It had been easy to dismiss, an external, inconsequential sensation. This frigid invasion, however, seemed to be rooted deep inside him, as though the inner spark of his grace was fading and taking all of its warmth with it.

"You okay?" Sam's soft voice spoke up.

Castiel started, and dropped his arms back to his sides. He wasn't sure how to answer that question. Physically, his vessel seemed to be failing him, as was his grace. Emotionally, he felt wrung out and raw, betrayed by everyone he had ever had faith in. There was no point to anything anymore. They had lost the war now that Dean had given up on them, and though the Winchester was safely locked away at the moment, it was only a matter of time.

So, in that respect, Castiel supposed he was far from 'okay.' But there was nothing they could do to change things, and Sam had to be feeling worse than he was.

"I'm fine. You look exhausted, Sam. You should get some rest."

Sam heaved out a weary sigh. "We both should." He pushed himself up from the couch. "How long did you knock Dean out for?"

"A while. Besides, the panic room is secure; he's not going anywhere."

Sam let out a humorless snort. "Yeah." With that, he shuffled toward the stairs that led to the second story.

Castiel watched him go, a sick feeling curdling in his stomach. He wrapped his arms around himself again, and leaned his head against the window pane where sunlight was streaming in, desperately trying to soak in some of its warmth.

* * *

Sam had gotten an hour or so of sleep, and only because his body had been too exhausted to stay awake any longer. It didn't exactly give him a clearer head for this, but he needed to have a sit-down with his errant brother.

He peeked through the small window bars in the door of the panic room. Dean was sitting on the cot against the right wall, arms crossed and looking sour. Taking a deep breath, Sam pulled the heavy iron door open with a grating screech, and stepped inside.

Dean didn't bother with a greeting, just rolled his eyes and asked, "Is this really necessary?"

Sam pulled the door closed behind him, leaving it open only a crack, and shrugged his shoulder in discomfort. "Well, after running off and leaving me in Minnesota, I'd say yeah."

"It wasn't like you were stranded. You made use of Angel Air pretty quickly," Dean replied with a trace of bitterness.

Sam tried to breathe calmly through his nose. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

Dean shook his head and looked away, some of that outer hostility replaced with heartbroken defeat. "I'm tired, man. I'm tired of fighting who I'm supposed to be."

Sam's initial impulse was to respond with anger, but he kept himself in check for a moment. It killed him to see his brother giving up, after _everything_.

"Well, do you think maybe you could take a half a second and stop trying to sacrifice yourself for a change?" he said. "Maybe we could actually stick together?" Which was what Dean had convinced him of when they'd gone their separate ways months before. And now Dean wanted to take it back? Well, no, Sam wasn't going to let that happen. His stubborn brother had been right back then: they needed to stand together.

Dean shook his head in exasperation, and then lowered his gaze to the floor. His voice came out gruff with his response. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

Dean glanced up at him, but then looked down again.

"Dean, seriously," Sam pressed. "Tell me. I—I want to know."

"I just…" Dean gazed at the space in front of him. "I don't believe."

Sam furrowed his brow, not understanding. "In what?"

Dean finally met his gaze, and the tired, lackluster look in his brother's eyes made Sam's stomach clench. "In you."

The soft-spoken words packed one of the most painful punches Sam had ever taken. Hot moisture prickled the corners of his eyes, and he had to look away, swallowing hard against the lump gathering in his throat.

"I mean, I don't…" Dean continued, voice choking slightly. "I don't know whether it's gonna be demon blood or some other demon _chick_ or what, but…I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you."

Sam almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Except that he had heard it before. He'd just thought…that he had proven he had changed. His mouth quirked bitterly. "So you're saying I'm not strong enough."

"You're angry," Dean stated, as though it was a matter of indisputable fact. "You're self-righteous."

Sam's heart fractured with each pointed barb, and he found it was getting harder to breathe.

"Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time."

"Don't say that to me," he snapped, tears making his vision blur along the edges. "Not you…of _all_ people." He tried to take a deep breath, tried to dispel the emotion choking him from the inside. Dean was just trying to push him away, in his brother's twisted sense of protecting him. That…that had to be it…

"I don't want to." Dean's unwavering gaze was sad, yet somehow uncaring. "But it's the truth. And when Satan takes you over, there's got to be somebody there to fight him, and so it's got to be me."

The words tore at Sam's heart with their heavy disappointment and unvarnished cruelty. Without responding, he turned and pushed his way out of the panic room, slamming the door with a screech and resounding thud behind him. He was ready to storm upstairs and head straight for the liquor cabinet, but Sam pulled up short at the sight of Cas standing at the base of the stairs. For a moment, they just looked at each other in silent commiseration.

Cas cleared his throat. "He's wrong. You are strong enough, Sam."

Some of his anger deflated, and Sam felt the weight of the world bearing down upon his shoulders. "Maybe, but does it really make a difference?"

Cas's expression fell. "I suppose not. Not anymore." He turned and started up the stairs.

Sam cast one last look at the panic room door before following.

Three-quarters of the way up the steps, Cas suddenly stumbled and shot a hand out against the wall.

"Cas? You okay?" Sam wavered behind the angel, hands partially raised to catch him should he fall backwards.

"I…the walls are…spinning."

Sam frowned, and moved up another step to take Cas's elbow. He was stunned to feel the minute tremors running through the angel.

Cas lifted his head and turned slightly glazed eyes toward Sam. "I don't feel well."

Aw, shit, this was the last thing they needed right now. Sam tightened his grip on Cas's arm, and moved his other hand around the angel's back, nudging him to make it the rest of the way up the stairs. Cas's movements were jerky, and he was definitely struggling to remain upright. Once on the landing of the first floor, Sam pressed closer to support the angel as they made their way into the library.

Bobby looked up from his desk and scowled. "What now?"

"I don't know," Sam replied as he eased Cas onto the couch. The angel was shivering uncontrollably.

"I-is this what al-cohol poisoning f-feels like?"

Sam frowned. "No. Besides, that was days ago. It wouldn't be hitting you now."

Bobby wheeled himself out from behind the desk. "Why would you think alcohol poisoning?"

Cas blinked over at him. "I drank a liquor store."

The older hunter's brows rose sharply, and then he shook his head with a snort. "You're picking up too many bad habits from Dean."

Cas's gaze slid to the flask on the desk. "It's a c-coping mechanism you all seem t-to use."

"Alright, enough," Sam interrupted. "It's not from the alcohol." He placed the back of his hand against Cas's forehead, expecting maybe a fever, and startled at the ice-cold touch instead. "What the—you're practically hypothermic."

Cas hugged himself, a gesture that made him look markedly smaller than usual, and he was shaking like a leaf. "I think p-perhaps, I'm still weakened b-by the Whore."

 _Dammit_ , Sam mentally muttered. He wasn't sure they had time for this…though, realistically, what else was there to do while Dean was intent on his own private martyrdom party?

"Can you remember the exact spell she cast?" Sam asked, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over the miserable looking angel.

"I t-think so."

Sam moved around Bobby and snatched a memo pad and pencil off the desk, then handed them to Cas. The angel's writing was clumsy as he scribbled out the incantation, and Sam quickly took the pad back.

"Okay, Bobby and I will get on this." He passed the paper to the older hunter, who rolled his eyes and wheeled over to one of the bookshelves where he scanned the spines.

"Sam, grab that green volume off the top shelf," Bobby instructed as he started pulling books from the shelves he could reach.

Sam did as told, and they began stacking the potential resources on the desk. Bobby picked up one of the tomes and passed it to Cas, then wheeled back behind the desk. Sam took a seat on the other side, and the three of them fell into silent study.

It was slow going, for Sam at least, as his thoughts constantly kept drifting to his brother who was just downstairs. Dean should have been up here with them, or Sam should have been down there trying to talk some sense into his brother. But Dean couldn't be trusted right now…and Sam was still smarting from their last conversation.

The thud of a book hitting the floor jolted Sam out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head up to find Cas listing sideways on the couch, his breaths coming out shallow and labored. Sam surged out of his chair and hurried over.

"Cas?" He gripped the angel's shoulders and tried to hold him up, but Cas was practically going limp. "Whoa, easy." Sam tilted him the other way so he could lie down across the sofa.

"What's wrong with me?" Cas mumbled.

Sam's chest constricted. "I don't know."

Cas was still shivering, and was several shades paler than before. If he hadn't been sitting in the den this entire time, Sam would've thought the angel had just flown back from Antarctica.

He pulled the blanket up and tucked it tighter around Cas's shoulders. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

Cas just stared at him, eyes wavering with doubt and a glimmer of fear, an expression Sam never thought to see on an angel. He swallowed hard, patted Cas's shoulder awkwardly, and returned to his chair to the book he'd been reading. He had to consciously push all thoughts of Dean aside now, and focus on the immediate problem.

Unfortunately, when Bobby finally found the curse the Whore had used on Cas, it only confirmed that it wasn't the source of what was happening to the angel. The effects had been a singular, one-time attack to weaken her opponent, but not something that lingered or had a delayed reaction.

Bobby wheeled himself into the kitchen to put on some hot water for tea, as they didn't know what else to do for Cas at the moment. Sam gazed at the angel as he tried to tuck himself closer against the back of the couch, shoulders bunched forward in an effort to hold in whatever warmth he could find. They needed to figure this out, soon. Which meant they were gonna need help.

* * *

Dean flipped idly through the pages of the magazine he'd found lying around the panic room. The words might as well have been gibberish, for all he was able to concentrate on them. Part of him was relieved Sam and Cas had stopped him before he could say yes to Michael. He didn't _want_ the archangel to wear him to prom; it was just what he had to do.

He hadn't lied to Sam—he was tired. So tired of losing people, of being the reason they were killed. Mom, Dad, Jo, Ellen…Dean's hands were being stained with more and more red, and he saw no other way to stop it. Maybe he shouldn't have also said those things about Sam, but they were partly true, too. At least in the back of Dean's mind with what he feared the most. Better he surrender and take on the Devil before Lucifer got his hooks into Sam. Because they couldn't run forever.

The handle on the door grated as it turned, and Dean sat up straighter, hoping he was about to get his prisoner rations, or at least a damn soda. But when Sam stepped inside, he was empty-handed, and there was a tightness in his jaw that set Dean on edge. His brother was probably still angry, had probably collected himself enough to come back for round two.

Except, there was a glimmer of worry in Sam's eyes that gave Dean pause.

"What disaster hit this time and how many people did it kill?" he asked, not bothering to hold back the bite in his tone.

Sam pulled up short with a frown. "What?"

"Isn't that what you came to tell me? That more people are dead while we sit on our asses doing nothing? And how many more are gonna die before you let me do what needs to be done?"

A muscle in Sam's cheek ticked, his nostrils flaring with anger. Good, if Dean could piss him off enough, maybe Sam would finally get fed up and let him go in a fit of temper, tell Dean he could go screw himself by being an angel condom. Dean had to hurt Sam now in order to save his brother more pain later on.

Sam clenched his fists. "Cas is sick."

Dean blinked. That…wasn't at all what he expected to hear. "What?"

"At first we thought maybe it was from the curse the Whore of Babylon used on him," Sam explained. "But Bobby and I found the spell, and it doesn't cause what's happening."

Dean surged to his feet. "What _is_ happening?"

"Cas is getting weaker. And he can't get warm. It's like he's suffering from hypothermia, even though there's no external reason for it." Sam shook his head in frustration, and reached up to rub the back of his neck.

Dean felt his stomach start to hollow out. "But angels don't get sick."

Sam shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it's because he's cut off from Heaven?"

"He's been cut off for months without any problems," Dean countered. He started to pace. Why was he even surprised by this? Things were always going wrong for them. "So what do we do?"

Sam was eyeing him shrewdly. "Bobby and I can keep scouring the lore," he said carefully, and then hesitated for a beat. "It would help if we had another set of hands, plus someone to sit with Cas, keep an eye on him."

Dean spread his arms and shot his brother a dubious look. "You planning on calling a nursing service?"

Sam's expression darkened. "You planning on running out on us if I let you out of here?"

Dean reeled back, stunned at the accusation. "I wouldn't do that, not while Cas is hurt."

"He was hurt when you left us in Minnesota."

"He'd said he just needed to rest and recover!" Dean stared at his brother incredulously. "If I'd known he was gonna get worse, I wouldn't have taken off."

"Yet."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Look, Cas needs us, so can you trust that I won't leave him hanging right now? Or do you wanna argue some more while he's suffering?"

Sam shook his head in obvious frustration, but stepped aside and held his arm out toward the door. It didn't feel like a victory when Dean moved past him and exited the panic room. Right now, he just wanted to see Cas for himself.

The two of them clomped up the steps and into the library. Bobby shot Dean a pointed glare as they entered, which, come on. Dean almost delivered a snappy remark in turn, but then his gaze landed on the couch where Cas was bundled under three layers of blankets. Dean's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't that he had doubted Sam's story, but seeing Cas, the usually unyielding and intense angel of the Lord, laid up like this shook Dean to the core. Cas's face was white as a ghost, and occasional tremors made him shudder under the blankets.

Dean slowly walked over to stand next to the couch. "Jeez, Cas, you look like death warmed over."

Cas's eyelids fluttered as he lifted his gaze to meet Dean's. "I don't feel warm at all."

He sounded so pitiful, Dean instantly bit back another joke. He cleared his throat. "Well, there's gotta be more blankets lying around here somewhere."

"I threw a couple in the dryer," Sam interjected. "Thought warming them up first might help. There's also tea on the kitchen counter." He turned then and sat in one of the chairs across from Bobby, pulling a huge tome over to resume his search for something to help their friend.

Dean took that as instruction to get the things for Cas himself. He felt Bobby's piercing gaze follow his back as he made his way into the kitchen. The mistrust stung a little; like he would really abandon them and Cas like this. But, he supposed he deserved their ire.

He stepped into the hallway to retrieve the blankets from the dryer. They were really warm, hot enough to burn in some places, and it required a little bit of hot potato dancing to get them out and draped over his arm. He went back into the kitchen to grab the mug of steaming tea from the counter, and finally returned to the den.

Dean set the cup on a side table first, and then started unfolding the blankets and laying them over the angel. Cas shuddered violently as the heat touched him, yet he instantly tried to curl into the warmth. Dean hurried to tuck the corners under Cas's shoulders. The back of his hand accidentally brushed Cas's face, and Dean jerked back in surprise. Shit, he was cold. Sam's 'hypothermia' assessment wasn't far from the mark. What the hell was this?

Dean nudged Cas's knees to the side so he could sit on the edge of the sofa, and then reached for the mug. "Hey, can you drink this?"

Cas's face scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's hot. Maybe if we get some warm liquids down you, you'll start to warm up."

"Oh. Th-that sounds promising. I'm so c-cold inside. The blankets d-don't penetrate d-deep enough. There's no flame."

"Uhh…" Dean glanced over at Sam, who was frowning worriedly at them. He hoped Cas wasn't becoming delirious. "Okay, well, lift your head a little."

Dean held the cup to Cas's lips as the angel took a few lengthy swallows. Then Cas dropped his head back against the pillow, that little effort apparently having been strenuous.

"Cas," Dean asked. "You ever hear of anything like this happening to an angel before?"

"Mmm-mm," Cas mumbled in the negative, eyes closed as shallow breaths wheezed in his chest.

Dean almost wished they could call another angel for a second opinion. But he knew better than to summon one to Bobby's house; even if he was ready to say yes to Michael, he'd never put his friends and brother in danger that way.

"You got another book I can start looking through?" Dean asked the other hunters.

Sam reached for one from a stack on the desk.

"Don't bother," Cas's tired voice said.

Dean jerked his head sharply back toward the angel. "Excuse me? What do you mean 'don't bother'? You look like you're dying, Cas!"

What else could an angel falling this sick mean?

Cas lifted half-lidded eyes to meet his. "I'll be dead soon anyway. You've already decided to say yes to Michael, and af…after the battle is won, he'll c-come after me, to punish me for…my rebellion." Cas squeezed his eyes shut. "Using your face, your hands. Letting me d-die now…would be a kindness."

Dean's throat tightened to the point he could barely draw breath. Was Cas really afraid of that? Dean hadn't thought…he hadn't considered what would happen to Cas after the world was saved. He'd just sorta thought…Cas would be allowed back into Heaven.

"I won't let that happen," he promised. "I'll make a deal with Michael—none of the angels can hurt you, any of you." Dean glanced over toward Sam and Bobby, but neither of them looked appeased by the statement. If anything, they seemed more pissed.

"Michael doesn't make deals," Cas replied, his voice growing softer. "And I d-don't know why you would c-care. I…gave everything for you. I turned on my…own brothers for you, all so you wouldn't be forced int-to a destiny you d-didn't want. Now you want it. What makes you t-think there's any point…to my living after…everything is over?"

Dean's heart seized. "Cas…"

Cas turned his head into the cushion, away from Dean. That wasn't fair. Dean was trying to _save_ people. And he'd save Cas, too. The angels needed him, so they could damn well do whatever he wanted to ensure his cooperation.

Bobby suddenly cleared his throat. "Can I speak with you boys in the hall?"

Dean pried himself away from Cas, who didn't even react to them all shuffling out of the room. Once in the hallway, Bobby wheeled around and lowered his voice.

"I found something. Not sure it's exactly what's going on, but…"

"Spit it out," Dean snapped. His patience was wearing thin and he wanted answers.

Bobby scowled at him, and then looked to Sam to deliver the news. "It's an obscure reference, but something about how angels are beings of faith, and losing faith is like a terminal diagnosis."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Wouldn't that just mean they fall? Like Anna?"

"Anna chose to fall," Dean put in. "It wasn't about faith."

Sam huffed. "Okay, then what…" He trailed off, eyes widening. "Oh, shit."

Dean stiffened. "What?"

Sam flicked his gaze toward Dean. "Faith. Cas may have rebelled against Heaven and what the angels believe in, but he's always believed that God was out there and would step in to help us."

Realization hit Dean like a gut punch. "And it was only a week ago Joshua gave us the news that God didn't care."

His brother nodded. "Cas's faith was shattered. I mean, he went off and drank an entire liquor store." Sam reached up to rub the back of his neck. "He could have started getting sick right away, but the hangover and then the Whore's spell could have masked the symptoms."

Dean clenched his fists. "So now Cas is, what, dying? All because his dad is a deadbeat? How are we supposed to cure him?" He threw a desperate look between his brother and Bobby, neither of whom said anything for several long moments. A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked, and Bobby ducked his gaze to the ground.

"Maybe…" Sam spoke up softly. "It's not God who we need to restore Cas's faith in." He looked pointedly at Dean, who felt like his heart had just been speared with a harpoon.

"Don't…" Dean jabbed a shaky finger at his brother. "Don't you dare use Cas as blackmail to get me to change my mind about Michael."

"You see another option?" Sam hissed. "And Cas had a point; you really think that after the angels beat Lucifer, they're gonna let any of us live? Cas _rebelled_. I'm Lucifer's _vessel_ , the abomination, remember?"

Dean clenched his jaw. "I'll make them swear not to hurt either of you."

Sam snorted and spun away, shaking his head at the wall. "Wow, you're even more delusional than I thought."

"What do you want from me, Sam?" Dean's voice rose an octave and he had to bite his tongue before he started yelling. Casting a furtive look back down the hall toward the den, Dean lowered his voice. "If I don't do this, we're all gonna die anyway."

Sam whirled back around to face him. "We can still find a way, Dean."

Now it was Dean's turn to look away. He was steadily approaching that point where he wanted to throw a punch at his obstinately annoying younger brother.

Bobby finally let out an exasperated noise. "Might as well give it a rest, Sam. Dean's made up his mind." He turned his wheelchair to head back to the library. "We'll try to make Cas as comfortable as possible."

The unspoken ' _until the end_ ' hung in the air like a guillotine poised to drop.

"Bobby…" Dean threw his surrogate father a pleading look, but the older man simply shrugged and left him and Sam standing in the hallway. Dean smacked his palm against the wall. Dammit, this wasn't what he wanted.

Sam gave him a look of utter disappointment before trailing after Bobby. Dean's gaze automatically flicked to the front door. His path was unobstructed. Whether Sam and Bobby were letting him do it, or they were testing him, it didn't really matter. Dean could go, just like he'd planned.

He took a few steps forward, bringing him alongside the entry to the den. Bobby had returned to his desk and was skimming a book, probably still doggedly looking for a way to help Cas. Sam was standing over the angel and adjusting the blankets, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

Dean glanced at the front door again. He couldn't leave, not like this. But he also didn't think he had what they needed to save Cas.

Shoulders sagging in defeat, Dean turned and walked into the den. Sam glanced at him briefly before moving away from Cas and returning to his chair across from Bobby. The message was clear: _do something_. Dean just didn't know what that was supposed to be.

He grabbed the other chair and dragged it over to the couch before sinking into it. Cas's eyes were closed, and his tremors seemed to be decreasing from what Dean could tell. That was not, however, a good sign, because it was obvious Cas was only growing weaker. The blankets had lost all their heat, and apparently none of it had seeped into the sickening angel.

Dean reached under the fold of the blankets and gripped Cas's ice-cold hand, hard. "Cas, come on, you can't give up now."

Cas cracked his eyelids open. "You did."

Dean bit back a frustrated growl. "I didn't give up, dammit. I was just trying to do the right thing."

"I heard what you said to Sam." Cas's voice was a thin reed from his normal gravelly tone.

Dean tensed. He didn't want to have another argument about him saying yes.

Cloudy blue eyes skewered his. "That you don't believe in him," Cas continued, and shifted his gaze to ceiling. "Well, I don't believe in you anymore either, Dean Winchester. You've abandoned us. God's abandoned us."

 _Us… Me_.

Dean's stomach clenched. Dammit, why did this have to fall on him? How was he supposed to be responsible for restoring an angel's faith in order for Cas to live?

…Though, was it really all that different from the monumental task of fighting the Apocalypse? If Dean could do this, right here, then maybe, just maybe…

He squeezed Cas's hand tighter. "I lost my faith, just like you. But…" Dean swallowed, and flicked a look at his brother. "I think I have it in me to find it again."

Sam's eyes wavered as he gazed back at Dean.

Dean turned back to Cas. "Because having faith in each other is the only way we're gonna get through this. I know I let you down. I'm only human. But even so, back when everything was on the line and you had a choice, you chose to stand with me, a lowly, _fallible_ human. You put your faith in me. And Sam."

Dean's vision blurred with hot moisture. "So I'm asking you again, Cas, stand with us against the Apocalypse. Because we sure as hell can't do it without you."

Cas's breath hitched in his throat. "And Michael?"

"Screw him. And Zachariah, and all the other winged dicks. Screw God. We'll find a way." Dean didn't have a clue how, but then, wasn't that what having faith meant?

Cas winced in what appeared to be pain. "I think I've fallen too far, Dean. I'm…it's so cold. The light I used to feel from Creation…from my brothers…it's gone. There's nothing…"

Dean tightened his grip on the angel's hand. "Then hold onto me. I'm right here, and I swear I'm not going anywhere this time."

Cas stared back at him, weariness and the weight of past disappointment dulling his eyes. Dean didn't let go, even when Cas's eyelids eventually slipped closed, and he was afraid that he hadn't been enough after all.

* * *

Somewhere in the dark recesses of Castiel's frozen grace, a single ember sputtered desperately, clinging to a gossamer thread that was somehow able to extend past the walls of this frigid prison and latch onto a spark somewhere on the outside. A human soul with a hunter green aura. The one Castiel had raised from Perdition, with all the hopes of Heaven and Earth laid upon this man. It was too much to ask, too much to bear, and Castiel had marveled at Dean's strength. And then later his staunch courage and resolution to not follow the path set before him, but to do something unthinkable—and more righteous.

At least, that was what Castiel had believed that moment in the Green Room when Dean had demanded he choose. And Castiel had chosen the hard road, the one of pain and suffering, tears and blood. All because of one man.

That spirit's persistence continued to tether him now, urging him to come back. He was so lost, though, trapped in the desolation of this glacial existence, like a star that had collapsed in on itself and left only the void of a black hole where it used to shine. The last flicker of Castiel's grace dimmed another fraction.

But that tendril of light refused to let go, and Castiel thought he heard a distant echo of Dean's voice, pleading to him, for him.

And so he chose, once again, to follow. Even unto the ending of the world.

The green aura pulsed in response, and suddenly Castiel felt warmth suffusing down to his core. His frozen grace began to thaw, releasing its inner light. The once dying ember swelled into a live flame, and grew larger and brighter, chasing away the chill of isolation and abandonment, until it rose from the depths and straight into the waiting embrace of the one who'd called him back.

Castiel's eyelids fluttered open, and he squinted against the harsh glare streaming through the window. When his vision finally adjusted, he turned his head to the right and found Dean sitting in the same chair as before, elbows on his knees and interlocked fingers bracing his forehead. Castiel knew Dean Winchester was not a man prone to prayer, and so the image struck him.

"Dean," he rasped.

The hunter jerked his head up. "Cas?" He scooted to the edge of his seat. "Are you back?"

Castiel nodded slowly, and started to prop himself up. The several layers of blankets pooled down in his lap, and Dean reached over to grip his shoulder to help him sit up against the back of the sofa.

Sam was suddenly in front of him, as well, and Castiel realized Bobby was also in the room. "How you feeling?" Sam asked as he placed the back of his hand against Castiel's cheek and then forehead.

"Better," he replied.

"Look at that," Dean said with a smile. "Color in your cheeks and everything."

"You're not an icicle anymore, either," Sam added, also grinning in relief.

Castiel did feel warm, a sensation he had taken for granted and was now earnestly grateful to feel again. But with his alleviation also came a trace of worry. He looked at Dean.

"Did you mean what you said?"

Dean drew his shoulders back. "Yeah, I did." He glanced at his brother, exchanging the same silent promise. "Team Free Will."

Sam beamed at him.

"Team what now?" Bobby's gruff voice interrupted. "What are you, a boys band from the 90s?"

Castiel didn't know what that was, but Sam chuckled while Dean briefly shot the older hunter a scowl. Then Dean turned back to Castiel and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks for not giving up, Cas," he said seriously. "You know, you're practically family now. I need you."

Castiel was taken aback at the declaration, one he knew was not given lightly. Family meant more to Sam and Dean than it did to angels, though there were times when Castiel yearned for a semblance of the bond between these brothers. To be counted among them like this…well, ever since he'd been cut off from Heaven…he supposed he needed the Winchesters too.

"And I will follow you, Dean."

A shroud of darkness fell over the young man's face at that, a haunting echo of a night not so long ago, in a hospital room when Dean had discovered just how much burden had been placed upon his shoulders by Fate. But Castiel would help him bear it.


End file.
